


Where Else?

by mizsphinx



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, Porn Without Plot, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-23
Updated: 2012-07-23
Packaged: 2017-11-10 14:10:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,019
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/467185
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mizsphinx/pseuds/mizsphinx
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The prisoners of Azkaban are planning a strike, and they have requested the media's attention. Reporter Hermione Granger is sent in to cover the story. Lucius Malfoy greets her with a very warm welcome. LMHG fic exchange 2012 fic.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Where Else?

** Where Else? **   
  


**PRISON STRIKE IN AZKABAN!**

_By Hermione Granger_

_Thigh-high weeds in the yard, a decomposing building structure, a huge accumulation of garbage in various locations on the compound – this is the awful display one will immediately encounter if one were to visit Azkaban prison. Unfortunately, this is only the view from the exterior. The interior is much worse. Three days ago, the writer, upon receiving word of an ongoing prison strike in Azkaban, went and investigated. She was shocked to say the least._

_As soon as she entered the prison, the writer was assailed by an awful stench that maintained its stay throughout the entire building. Upon a tour, disturbing signs of neglect were discovered: unwashed sheets and clothing, blocked toilets, showers with huge sections of mould, windows caked thick with grime, and vermin scuttling freely to and fro._

_“They get fed, right?” answered Auror Frank Buchanan in surly tones when questioned as to why the prison cells were left in such horrid conditions. “That’s a whole lot more than they deserve, if you ask me.”_

_Fed, indeed. Once per day, as a matter of fact, sometimes once every two days, and always the same tasteless—and hardly nutritious—bowl of rice porridge. The food-storage areas are infested with cockroaches, and the lunchroom tables and chairs are so rotted that the prisoners are forced to sit on the dirty floor and eat their meals._

_“I mean, we’re all human beings,” spoke Rodolphus Lestrange. “It doesn’t matter what crimes we may have committed in the past. We deserve better treatment than this. That’s why we’re striking.”_

_So far, their letters to the Ministry have been ignored, and the recent employ of a passive hunger strike two weeks ago has not managed to garner the Ministry’s attention. Still, they are determined to have their voices heard. These fifty-plus prisoners of Azkaban are readying themselves for a public declaration of their dissatisfaction come Monday. When queried as to how they will achieve this feat whilst incarcerated, the writer only received secretive smiles from the group, and this cryptic response: “You’ll see.”_

_However, not every prisoner will be participating in this protest. Some appear exceptionally disinterested with the events. For instance, when interviewing Mr Lucius Malfoy, the writer was met with great indifference…_

**o.o**   
  
_One week prior_

As soon as Hermione stepped foot onto Azkaban grounds, her upper lip involuntarily curled upwards, and her eyebrows creased in a frown of disgust. Without having ventured further than a footstep off of the pier, she already felt as though her entire body was covered in filth.

Ninety percent of her wanted to just turn around and head back from whence she’d come, but upon looking over her shoulder, she noticed that the boatman she’d hired to bring her had already zipped off. Judging by how far he’d already advanced in so short a time, it was obvious he wasn’t too keen about this place either. She sincerely hoped he’d come back to collect her at their previously agreed-upon time.

_This is absolute madness. I can’t believe I agreed to do this._

Insanity surely must have been the reason she had accepted this piece. It could be the only explanation as to why she’d willingly agreed to the request of her boss—and come, for that matter. So what if she’d been craving an opportunity to advance in her reporting career? So what if she’d felt as though she’d forever be stuck interviewing no-talent artists and pretentious professors with their droll five-hundred paged autobiographies? Surely she could have found another route for exposure.

_Maybe after ten to fifteen years when I’ve become so irrelevant that when I do get my chance, nobody would even care._

Still, was it worth sacrificing her mental health for career longevity?

Per her boss’ instructions, she was to attain an extensive report on a prison strike that was ongoing in Azkaban. Apparently, the prisoners were dissatisfied with their living conditions, and felt they deserved better treatment than what was being offered. Having failed to garner the Ministry’s attention thus far, they had resorted to contacting the media instead.

_I’m fine. This is fine. I can do this._

She took a deep breath to buoy her courage, and then regretted doing so when the stench of the nearby rubbish pile infiltrated her nostrils. She thought that this was a horrible way for her to kick-start her weekend, especially after she’d had such a cruddy week to boot. But then, she stood a little straighter, squared her shoulders and walked the remaining steps towards Azkaban’s entrance.

Standing high above on the fourth floor, leaning partly out of a window and watching Hermione with a little smirk on his face was Lucius Malfoy.  
  
 **o.o**  
  
“Leaving so soon, Miss Granger?”

Startled, Hermione’s body jerked forwards. She was both surprised and dismayed by the swiftness in which her brain could recognise and associate _his_ voice.

She turned, for she’d been headed back down to the first floor to take pictures of the food storage area. Ministry Aurors had replaced the Dementors for prison guards after Voldemort’s defeat, and upon announcing her purpose for her visit, none of them had seemed to care. They hadn’t even bothered appointing her an escort. She’d make sure to squeeze that bit into her article as well.

The fourth floor hadn’t yielded much. It was not in as dilapidated a state as the previous floors, and there had hardly seemed to be any prisoners housed in this area. Alas, it appeared she’d been wrong.

Lucius Malfoy was leaning against the wall adjacent to an opened window. He had his ankles crossed, as well as his arms folded across his chest. Unlike the rest of the prisoners in their unattractive striped prison garb, Lucius was wearing an ash-grey tunic, a pair of trousers in darker grey…and shoes—a pair of near-shiny black Derbys that contrasted with the dusty, dirty floor upon which they stood.

 _None of the other inmates wear shoes,_ she thought first. Then, secondly, with greater incredulity, _none of the other inmates are allowed outside of their cells!_

“What are you doing here?” burst from her before she could stop herself.

A corner of Lucius Malfoy’s mouth curved slowly upwards. A lesser mind might have labelled it a smirk, but Hermione identified it as a triumphant half-smile. Why he was triumphant she did not—and did not want to—know.

“I’m merely enjoying my requisite post-lunch break. A pity your presence has sullied it,” he replied, his half-smile still intact.

She scowled. Vaguely, she realised that she ought to be all kinds of terrified that Lucius Malfoy was not where he should be—wrists shackled, and locked away securely within his cell. Instead, she felt more annoyed than afraid. She just did not like that little smile on his face.

“I meant: what are you doing outside of your cell? Moreover, had you been so offended by my presence, why draw attention to yourself?”

He shrugged. “Boredom, perhaps?”

 “How desperate,” she responded dryly.

“I suppose. It shames me that I must resort to conversing with a lowly Mudblood such as yourself to alleviate the tediousness of this life.”

She feigned a look at her left wrist. “Not even five minutes in, and yet you’ve already segued into trite name-calling. So very disappointing. Draco did better during university.”

Lucius lifted one thin eyebrow, and it was then that she fully noticed how _clean_ he looked. He hadn’t a scraggly-looking beard—he didn’t even have any stubble. Unusually, too, he’d managed to preserve his hair from the mandatory haircut Azkaban demanded of its inmates, and instead of being stringy or clumped with dirt, his hair hung free against his clavicles, and appeared freshly washed.

“Why aren’t you in your cell, Mr Malfoy?” she asked again.

“And why does that concern you, Miss Granger?” he rejoined in snarky tones. “Forgive me, but I cannot recall when you’d been granted the authority to dictate where I should and should not be.”

“Well, I’d like to think my tax galleons aren’t being wasted by having unrepentant criminals waltzing around freely, doing whatever the hell they liked.”

“Ah, ever so quick to judge per usual,” he replied. “You’ve fallen short of my expectations. I’d thought you’d changed.”

He stood up straight, obviously intending to leave, but a perverse section of Hermione did not want him to. She’d suddenly become aware of the way her heart was beating fast, unsteady thumps against her ribcage, and the way her belly felt as though some live creature were slithering around in its depths. Vaguely, she wondered if he’d seen the way she kept smoothing her right palm nervously against the material of her work trousers.

For unknown reasons, surely borne from masochism and insanity, Hermione wanted Lucius Malfoy to keep talking to her. She’d be hard-pressed to deny that she had been enjoying their little repartee. For the past few years, she’d suffered conversations where her witty responses were usually met with dumb or strange looks. It had been a while since she’d felt so engaged.

_But it’s Lucius Malfoy! Am I so desperate that I’d relish dialogue with such an evil man?_

Yes, she was. Just as desperate as he.

“Mr Malfoy, will you be participating in the protest on Monday?”

He turned to face her entirely, staring for a short moment before he began walking towards her. When he came within a footstep of encroaching upon her personal space, Hermione drew about ninety-five percent from her vat of willpower just to stand her ground. She refused to take a step back, regardless that common sense counselled she should. She would not cower before Lucius Malfoy. She would _not_.

“No.”

Trying to sound cool and unnerved: “Why not?”

“Why don’t you run?” he asked.

“I’m not afraid of you.”

“Is that so?”

She raised her chin. “I used to be, but not anymore.”

“You should be.”

“I should be,” her eyes met with his; defiant brown to impassive grey, “but, I’m not.”

Merlin, what a boldfaced lie. And she’d sounded so convincing, too. She was terrified of Lucius, but not as much as he probably hoped she’d be. Her fear was diluted by excitement, by the idea of the unexpected. And she was aroused, too. Her nipples had tightened into points against the material of her bra, and there was a thick, familiar sensation between her thighs.

She wondered if she should feel ashamed or traitorous that Lucius’ voice and his nearness was making her horny. Or maybe it was worse that the idea of Lucius fucking her against the steel bars of the nearby cells appealed so greatly that she got wetter at the thought. It really was absurd that for a man she’d harboured a special dislike for all this time, she could easily envision him bringing her to a screaming climax.

Invigorating conversations or not, her mind had begun to journey down dangerous paths. Maybe it was best she leave, thereby preventing any unwise decisions that would surely be made if she stayed in Lucius’ presence. She was a reporter—a professional one. She was to come, do her utmost best on her job, then leave. She was not getting paid to dawdle with convicts.

The sudden feeling of Lucius’ palm against the side of her neck brought Hermione out of her thoughts. She lifted her hand to bat his hand away, but he dropped his light hold on her neck and grabbed her hand instead. Then, with her free hand, she tried to quickly reach into her bag for her wand, but he captured her other hand as well.

“Miss Granger, have you forgotten that you cannot practice magic on Azkaban’s—”

She bent her knee and aimed it at his groin, but he jerked her body backwards then sideways, effectively blocking her attack. Her right shoulder and forearm collided against a nearby wall, and while it wasn’t painful, it knocked the breath out of her. Still, that did not stop her from putting up a mighty fight, thrashing her body, kicking at his legs, and trying to yank her hands free from the steel claws he called fingers.

But Lucius was bigger, taller, stronger, and very experienced in subduing struggling captives. In mere seconds, he’d managed to shove her back against the wall, pin her hands to the wall on either sides of her head, and wedge one of his knees between her thighs to limit her kicking. She wriggled some more, not one to give up easily, but when Lucius pushed his knee intimately against her, she was shocked into stillness.

“I’ll scream,” she threatened, breathing hard.

“You will,” he replied, his breath ghosting over her face. “That pretty mouth of yours will be screaming my name over and over again.”

She sneered. “Aren’t you disgusted by my touch? Have you forgotten that I’m a Mudblood? Where are your twisted philosophies now, Mr Malfoy?”

“Gone the moment I laid eyes on you, my dear.” He bent his head and bit her neck. Hard enough to hurt, but not enough to draw blood. “Amazingly, the ugly duckling has become quite the swan.”

“Let me go.”

His lips moved against her earlobe, his breath tickling the sensitive flesh of her ear.

“I want to fuck you first.”

Her body shivered. She closed her eyes. He was trailing the tip of his tongue up, down, and in light circles on her neck, whilst simultaneously rubbing her with his knee. Unable to stop herself, she spread her legs a little wider, and pressed herself more insistently onto him. A moan escaped her as the material of her knickers created a delicious friction against her clitoris when he rubbed it.

“Fuck me first? No, once again, Draco has already beaten you to it. You’ll be having your own son’s leavings.”

He bit her neck again, much harder than the first time. Then he reached up and bit the flesh of her earlobe as well.

“So you’ve an inclination for Malfoy cock, Miss Granger? Is that why you’ve traversed dangerous waters and braved this forsaken isle? Just to have a taste of mine as well? How flattering.”

“Please. I’m sure any experience with you will be as unsatisfactory as it was with your no-good son.”

He smiled. “I beg to differ, my sweet little whore. When I’m done with you, your cunt will never find pleasure from another man.”

And he released her left wrist, gripped the top of her work shirt, and yanked downwards. Unable to resist the force of his tug, buttons were separated from cloth, flinging every which way. Furious with his roughness, she slapped him with her free hand. The rapid darkening of his eyes conveyed that he didn’t like that very much, and to prove that point, he reached up, grabbed her left nipple through the material of her bra, and squeezed painfully.

When she cried out, he bent his head and covered her mouth with his, stoppering her cry with his tongue in her mouth. Lucius Malfoy did not kiss her; he overpowered her as he held her head in place with his hand just beneath her jaw, and as his tongue commenced war against hers. He worked his mouth over hers, his tongue questing and stroking and jabbing the recesses of her mouth into pliancy.

But still, Hermione did not submit. She did not surrender to his onslaught; instead, she retaliated. She tangled her fingers into his hair and kissed him back with vigour. When he relinquished her right hand to pull her hips against his, her handbag slipped from her shoulder unnoticed, and she entwined the fingers of her newly freed hand into his hair as well.

She could feel the length of him, firm and ready, prodding against her lower belly, and brazenly, she reached her hand down and gripped him over the cloth of his trousers. He groaned into her mouth, and when she pumped him, he groaned again.

Hermione felt as though she were standing in a concentrated ray of sunlight that had tripled in its intensity. Her skin had grown an extra layer of sensitivity, and she longed to just strip free of all of her clothing. She longed to be naked enough for Lucius to slide his hands over every single exposed millimetre of her bared flesh. Naked enough for his tongue to follow the exact same path as his hands. Naked enough for him to fulfill his promise to her. To fuck her so hard, and so thoroughly, that it’d be best she remained celibate when he was done.

And, as if he could read her desire, Lucius began to shove her shirt off of her shoulders and to the floor. Breaking their kiss, he relocated his mouth to her neck where he’d bitten her and began kissing along her shoulder blade. Down went the strap of her bra, the other followed immediately after. Apparently having no patience to unbuckle her bra, he merely shoved the cups down around her sternum, her breasts fully exposed.

A coy smile on her face, she covered her nipples with her fingertips.

“When was the last time you had a woman, Mr Malfoy?”

“Today.”

“Really?” She tried to mask her growing disappointment.

He pulled her hands away. “Yes. It was you.”

“Is that prescience or extraordinary overconfidence?”

He dragged his forefingers along the sides and undersides of her breasts. He pressed down onto her nipples with his digits, and then used the tips of his fingernails to scrape and pinch them. She watched him watching her, knowing he was waiting for a reaction, and refusing to give him any more than the occasional twitch elicited from each sharp pinch.

Then he suddenly descended his mouth onto her left breast. He dragged his teeth along her flesh, and then sucked her nipple hard. A moan was pulled from her throat, and she wound her hand into his hair, the strands soft and fine against her fingers.

“Not so stubborn now, hmm?” he said around her breast.

“Didn’t your mother ever teach you not to speak with your mouth full?”

Her body jerked when he bit her nipple, and, as if anticipating it, he blocked her hand when she lifted it to slap him. He bit her again, and then soothed it with a lap of his velvet tongue. The warmth of his mouth and the glide of his tongue against her skin evoked helpless little whimpers from Hermione. Back and forth he went between her breasts, sucking as much of them as he could into his hot mouth, feasting on them with unashamed greediness.

Even as his mouth remained fixated on her breasts, Lucius’ hands were mobile. Down they drifted, smoothing slowly over her stomach, and Hermione felt her insides clench at his touch. Returning one hand to tweak an unattended nipple, his other hand remained in motion, swiftly undoing and unzipping the button and zip of her trousers.

He pulled his knee from between her legs, and, unfastened, her trousers began to slide from her waist. With Lucius’ assistance, they pooled at her ankles. Her knickers soon followed after. She stepped out of them and kicked them off to the side.

He raised his head and kissed her again, and then he pushed his hand between her thighs to cup her.

“My, what a wet pussy you have,” he commented against her lips.

“All the better to fuck you with, my dear,” she returned with a salacious smile.

He smirked as he spread her swollen lips with two of his fingers then slowly inserted his middle finger deeply into her. Hermione’s mouth opened on a soundless gasp at the exquisite intrusion of his digit, and she clutched at his shoulders, the material of his tunic bunching in her palms.

He pumped his middle finger in her twice, inserted another finger into her, pumped twice again, and then tried to fit a third digit in as well.

In a gravelly voice, he said against her lips: “Miss Granger, you are so tight, I’m of great certainty that I will stretch you to a bleeding point when I fuck you.”

“You’re so arrogant, I’m not…I’m not… _fuck…yesss…”_

With three fingers screwed tight in her, Lucius began to move them up and down and in and out of her, dragging them along her walls, then smoothing his wet fingers over her engorged clitoris. He inserted his fingers into her again, and with his thumb moving against her nub, he pumped his fingers in and out of her mercilessly fast and hard.

“Oh god…oh my _god_ … _Lucius_ … _yes, yes, yesss_ …”

Hermione clenched his shoulders and spread her legs wider. Her breathing came in short, rapid spurts through her open mouth, and she pressed the back of her head against the wall as though she wished to melt through it. She could hardly move as Lucius kept pushing his fingers into her with ceaseless determination.

“Gods, witch. I can’t wait to be inside you. I can’t _wait_. Do you want me to? Do you want me to? Tell me. Tell me you want me to.”

Her moans grew louder and longer, and her body began to tremble. Her fingers gripped his shoulders even tighter.

“Tell me you want me to fuck you. Tell me,” he continued with an urgency bordering on desperateness. “ _Tell me._ ”

“Yes…yes _yes yes_ …” she panted out.

Lucius didn’t ask again. He pulled his fingers from her and quickly undid the stays of his trousers. When he pulled himself free, Hermione had only a short moment to admire how firm and thick he was, before he shoved her back harder against the wall, and lifted one of her legs to curl around his hip. Positioning himself at her entrance, he rubbed the head of his cock against her nether lips, then entered her slowly, inch by sweet, torturous inch.

Hermione groaned low, her eyes squeezed shut from the pleasurable feeling of Lucius’ girth stretching her. Coiling her hands around his neck, she lifted her other leg and wrapped it around his hips, locking her ankles together. With a groan of his own, Lucius sank deeper into her, their combined weight resting entirely on the wall behind Hermione’s back.

She grabbed a fistful of his hair and tugged, and as punishment, he pulled out partway then rocked himself hard back into her. She pulled on his hair a second time, and, again he withdrew from her before thrusting himself forcefully, painfully deep, grazing her cervix with the head of his cock.

“ _My god_ ,” she breathed out, tears forming in her eyes.

He began to move, a gentle rocking of his hips back and forth against hers, sliding in and out of her at a slow pace.

“ _Merlin, so tight_ ,” he rasped, his eyes closed as he locked his arms around her waist and began to move faster.

Hermione moved over him, on him, gyrating her hips to match his thrusts. When Lucius leant himself forwards and began to fuck her in earnest, she relinquished her hold on any remnants of self-awareness. She moaned aloud in abandonment, panting, and clutching at Lucius’ shoulders, crying out with every exquisite stroke of cock in her pussy.

And then she heard footsteps.

A series of footfalls coming from the left where the stairway existed.

“Miss Granger?” came a voice from the direction of the stairs. They didn’t sound very far. “This is Auror Frank, where are you?”

Hermione’s eyes flew open. Her body tensed, but when Lucius thrust into her, she just barely managed to stifle her whimper.

“Miss Granger?” Then: “Where the hell did that bloody woman go?”

“Lucius,” Hermione moaned, even as Lucius still moved in her. “Lucius, we need to… _unhh_ …they’ll...they’ll… _unnhh_ …catch us…”

“So?” was Lucius’ only response before he kissed her again. His tongue slid into her mouth, tangling with hers in a wet, unrefined kiss just one notch above a slobber.

As the footsteps of the Auror advanced ever closer, Hermione began to panic. She worried about the Auror discovering them, and the repercussions if— _when_ —he did. Snippets of images scrolled past her mind’s eye of news articles and wireless programmes of Auror Frank Buchanan letting the entire Wizarding world know how he’d found _the_ Hermione Granger shagging _Lucius Malfoy_ in Azkaban, against a wall, like a fifteen-Sickle whore in Knockturn Alley.

But still, Lucius moved. Driving his hips harder and faster against hers. So deep that it hurt and felt good at the same time. So deep that she found it near impossible to concentrate. He continued to kiss her, and she returned his kiss with equal zealousness, excitement threading her bloodstream at her uncharacteristic daringness.

The Auror had arrived on the landing now, and all that remained was a hallway of footsteps before he’d turn and be in full view of their lewd activity. Fear and anticipation filled Hermione, and she began to tremble. Her heart raced, its beats doubled in intensity and pounding in her ears as hard as Lucius was rocking himself into her. The tight, familiar build-up commenced. The innate feeling that her body strove for something just within grasp…

She groaned into his mouth. “I’m going…I’m going to… _fuck!_ _Fuck_ _fuck_ _fucking_ _ohhh_ … _oh my g—unhhh…_ ”

Her orgasm crept up on her then jumped her without warning. Like a plant reaching for sunlight, her body stretched taut until she was on tiptoe. Momentarily, she’d lost all ability to breathe, and could feel herself constricting tightly around Lucius’ cock. She shivered. A low, drawn-out groan issuing from her parted mouth as indescribable warmth rippled exquisitely along her inner walls.

Lucius climaxed along with her, opening his mouth wide over hers on a long moan. She could feel him twitching inside her as he came, and even as her walls still fluttered with the ebbing of her orgasm, Lucius pulled out of her abruptly, leaving her feeling empty.

“Hurry,” Lucius said as he bent and quickly grabbed for her shirt and trousers. Warm semen flowing easily down her thighs, she tried reaching for her bag, when Lucius wrenched on her hand, and dragged her around a nearby corner that lead to a dead-end.

“Miss Granger?” called the Auror a mere second later, obviously in view of the hallway they’d just occupied.

Lucius swiftly did up his trousers, and then he looked at her.

“Stay.”

“Where else would I go?” was her whispered retort.

Their gazes met and held for a moment before that triumphant little half-smile made a reappearance on Lucius’ face.

“Indeed.”  
  
 **o.o**

_Present day, Saturday_

_Great indifference? Ha!_

Hermione refolded the week-old, wrinkled newspaper and blushed when she remembered the kind of welcome she’d received from Lucius Malfoy last Friday. She’d been sore for a few days, but in the pleasant, memorable way that inspired one with the hope for an encore. Which was really a shame, because she’d never get one.

Lucius Malfoy was locked away in Azkaban for a long time, and she’d need a sound-proof excuse to visit him. After her article had been published, the Ministry had squirmed under the scrutiny of the public, thus capitulating to the prisoners’ requests for better living conditions. The level of security at Azkaban had doubled and strengthened as well, so a repeat performance of what she and Lucius had engaged in was certainly out of the question.

Not that she wanted a repeat performance...

Okay. So maybe she wouldn’t mind another go…

She felt like such a tart. A dirty, traitorous one. She’d allowed such a wicked, evil man to do such delicious…err…lewd things to her. It was as if she’d gone temporarily insane or been invaded by some otherworldly being. Sane Hermione wouldn’t have allowed what had happened. Sensible Hermione would have screamed bloody murder until every single Auror in Azkaban had come running to her rescue!

Oh, but she’d screamed. Screamed that bastard’s name whilst he fucked her up against a wall. Oh the shame… _the shame_ …if anyone found out about it, she couldn’t trust herself not to become melodramatic and kill herself…

Still, for the past week, she couldn’t stop thinking about Lucius Malfoy. His smirking, handsome face filled her daydreams and even those dreams in the night. She desperately wanted to see him again, to talk to him again, to banter with him again, but she was so frustrated because she knew these things were impossible. Lucius Malfoy was—

Someone knocking on her flat’s door broke her out of her thoughts.

Settling her cup of half-drunk tea in the sink, Hermione went to the door and opened it, expecting to find Ginny or Harry on the other side.

Instead, she found Lucius Malfoy standing there, dressed handsomely in a Muggle dress-shirt and trousers; shoes shiny as ever.

“Good afternoon, Miss Granger.”

She struggled to find her voice. “You...”

His smile was smug as he stepped into her doorway. “Yes. Me.”

She shuffled backwards. “Aren’t you supposed to be in prison?”

“I was granted early release for impeccable behaviour,” he replied, stepping closer. “I left the very next day after your visit.”

“Is that why you were out of your cell?” She stepped backwards.

He nodded. “That’s why.” He closed the door behind him; he stepped forwards.

Hermione’s heart began beating a little faster. She was blushing now, but still trying to appear in control.

“How foolhardy of the Ministry. They’ll regret that decision soon enough.”

“Perhaps,” he answered, reaching out and pulling her to him. “But I sincerely doubt that you would.”

She pressed her palms flat against his chest.

Quietly, she asked: “Why are you here, Lucius?”

His hands were already sliding up underneath her skirt even as his teeth grazed her earlobe. When his fingers had found the waistband of her knickers and had begun to ease them down, she could hear the smugness in his voice when he answered:

“My dear, where else would I go?”

**x.x end**


End file.
